Stories That Don't Make the Blog
by Lord of Time10
Summary: What do Sherlock and John when they're not solving cases? A series of one-shots about life at 221B. Rated T because I'm paranoid.
1. Chapter 1

**Sorry this first story is really short. I've never really done one shots before, but I'll try. I'd really appreciate some suggestions if anyone has them, as well as ideas for other stories. Thanks!**

John returned home after a long and uneventful day at work. With a carton of milk in one hand and his keys in the other, he opened the door to the flat he and his best friend shared. A burning smell immediately reached his nose and smoke filled the room. John set his things on the table and went to see what was wrong. Sherlock had left the stove on with a steaming pan on the burner. John turned off the stove, set the pan in the sink, and opened the window by the edge of the flat.

Though the flat was messier than John had left it that morning, Sherlock was nowhere in sight. All of a sudden, John heard a large crashing noise. He followed the sound to the hall, where the crash sounded again. It was" coming from his room. By the time he threw the door open, it was too late. Books were strewn about all over the bed, and every drawer had been taken off if its proper shelf. Sherlock was in the middle of the mess next to a pile of shirts. He was comparing a striped one to a green one. John sighed.

"Sherlock, what are you doing to my room?"

"Organizing." The detective replied, setting the striped shirt by a pile of large books. "It was a bit cluttered in here."

"Was?" John questioned, exasperated by the cluttered look of his once orderly room. "It's worse in here than when I left!" Sherlock looked up to his companion, then around the room.

"Yes, but you didn't have a system." Sherlock stated. John opened his mouth as if to reply, but Sherlock interrupted. "Before, all of your books were set up on the shelf, but there was no pattern to their placement. Now, I've arranged them by how often you read them. They are also set up so that if you're feeling bored, you can read a book with easy words. If you feel sad, you can read a happy book. I am currently trying to create a shirt and sock index for you, but now you're standing on my plan." John looked to see a crumpled piece of paper under his foot. He sighed again.

"I suppose you can...finish." John stated reluctantly, lifting his foot do Sherlock could take the paper. With that, John left his room to relax in his chair. The main room was less smoky now, but the room was still a disaster. _I'm sure Mrs. Hudson will do it,_ he thought, and sat down. _If only Sherlock would clean the rest of the flat._


	2. The Great Game

**I know it's been a while since I've written something on here. I apologize, for I have been busy. Please enjoy my take on Cluedo between Sherlock and John.**

John's eyes abruptly opened as he heard pots clattering to the ground in the kitchen. He hurriedly grabbed a robe and jumped from his bed out the door of his room. He groaned when he saw Sherlockpulling things out of drawers and dropping them to the ground.

"What are you doing?" John asked, rubbing his temples.

"Bored," Sherlock groaned.

John shook his head and started to walk _back_ towards his room.

"John!" Sherlock cried.

John turned to look at his best friend. "What?"

"I'm _bored!_ " Sherlock whined, dropping yet another pot to the ground.

"What do you want me to do about it?" John questioned, irritated.

Sherlock shrugged.

"We could go see a movie in a while. I could check the times and-

"No movies," Sherlock interrupted, sauntering to his chair. "Too boring, predictable, and obvious."

"So, no telly either?"

Sherlock shook his head.

"We could go for a walk."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Look out the window."

John did so, only to witness pouring rain. He groaned. Suddenly, he had an idea.

"Have you ever heard of Cluedo?"

Sherlock eyed his companion carefully, then shook his head.

"It's a mystery game! A case you can solve! I'll go see if Mrs. Hudson has it."

Within ten minutes, the board was on Sherlock and John's table and John was shuffling the cards. "Basically, you have to collect evidence to prove who murdered the man, what they murdered him with, and where he was murdered. You start with a certain amount of evidence, and-

"John? This makes no sense."

John looked at the detective for a moment and chuckled. "What do you mean?"

"Well, if we have already found the victim, then we know where he was murdered. I doubt the murderer would have been able to carry him from one room to another without being seen anyway, and even if he wasn't seen, why would he do that?"

"Let's just play, okay?"

Sherlock reluctantly nodded and the game began. Sherlock moved first, then scribbled several things on his notepad. "Mr. Green with the rope in the kitchen."

John looked at his cards. His eyes widened. He reached for the file and pulled out the cards. "You're right."

"Child's play."

"Let's play again, shall we?"

After a few turns of the next game, Sherlock had made a conclusion. "It was suicide."

"That's not an option," John informed him.

"Of course it is! It's the only explanation of all of the facts!"

"He had to have been murdered! I'll show you the answer!"

Before John could even grab the cards, Sherlock already had a lighter out and was burning them. "Now no one knows who did it!" He smiled.

Sherlock and John played Cluedo several more times,-though they were missing some cards-Sherlock winning each time within only a few turns. Finally, John threw his hands up.

"John?"

"What?" John replied, trying not to sound like a poor sport.

"Can we create a new version of Cluedo?"

"Uh...I guess."

For the next half hour, John and Sherlock cut out pieces of paper to use as cards. Sherlock wrote all over the rule book, and by the time they were finished, Mrs. Hudson's game looked as if a child had gotten hold of it.

There were now types of ways to die, new weapons, new suspects, added rooms, and more.

"No, no, no!" Sherlock cried as John made an accusation. "You must first bribe me and make me an offer in exchange for information."

John sighed. "What do you want, then?"

"Are you willing to sacrifice fifty coins for some of my knowledge?"

"You've only provided me with twenty-five coins as a start!" John cried, glaring at his friend.

"If you don't have the money, I'm afraid I can't help you." Sherlock rolled the die, signifying his turn. "Suicide." He pulled the cards from the file and looked them over. "Knew it!"

"I'm done," John said, walking to his chair. He started to close his eyes, falling asleep.

A _thunk_ awoke him. He opened his eyes to see a knife through the Cluedo board, attaching it to the mirror.

"Bored."


End file.
